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CARACAS, VENEZUELA—Jose Luis Pereira — 46 years old and fed up — slams a copy of the latest Ultimas Noticias onto the counter of his hole-in-the-wall liquor store in a rundown section of this brooding, hair-trigger town.

“That’s the Cuban way,” he fumes.

Monday’s edition of the Caracas tabloid carries a front-page report announcing that Venezuelans purchasing staple items at government-run food stores will now be permitted to make their subsidized purchases just one day a week. It’s a restriction Pereira perceives as tantamount to rationing — and he doesn’t like it one bit.

The paunchy father of two is far from alone in his frustration with the socialist government of Venezuelan President Nicolas Maduro. However, the tone and direction of his remarks belie a common perception about this country’s worsening political tensions, a sharp-edged conflict that in recent days has produced massive political rallies, both for and against the Maduro government, while claiming a dozen lives and leaving more than 100 wounded.

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Some observers regard the mounting conflict as a textbook case of class struggle, pitting this oil-rich country’s wealthy elite, its professional ranks and its mid-level wage-earners against the bulging and impoverished legions of Venezuela’s long-neglected poor.

That’s a version of the troubles that perfectly suits Maduro, who took over as president last year following the premature death of longtime ruler Hugo Chavez, still revered by his followers here.

Maduro has repeatedly dismissed his opponents as “fascists,” plotting to overthrow his government in an armed coup.

Tell that to Jose Luis Pereira, an unassuming guy struggling to make ends meet by selling cheap booze to residents of a rundown and low-rent district of the Venezuelan capital called Guaicaipuro (pronounced “gwie-kie-puro”).

What follows is an attempt to test the class-struggle interpretation of Venezuela’s now lethal political divide by gauging the ideological sympathies of caraquenos (as residents of the capital are known) in an upscale shopping centre, as well as in the much more humble confines of several ramshackle shops in Guaicaipuro.

While wholly unscientific, the results of the poll powerfully suggest that forces considerably more nuanced than rich-versus-poor are contributing to the tensions here, although elements of class conflict are undoubtedly at work.

“There are many people with resources who support the government,” says Gregory Garcia, manager of the Armi women’s clothing shop at the well-heeled Recreo mall in a part of Caracas called Savana Grande. “There are many people without resources who are against it.”

Among residents of Caracas, this seems to be a widespread belief, yielding the impression that the split in Venezuelan society is more ideological than purely economic.

“Class struggle?” says Carmen Perez, 62, who operates a cubbyhole of a pharmacy in Guaicaipuro. “This is a lie. This is false. It’s the government itself that makes this up.”

As a small-time merchant in a cash-poor district, Perez might be expected to support the Maduro government, which demonizes the rich while ministering to the poor, but she most certainly does not.

Instead, she looks around and sees only mismanagement, scarcity and crime.

“The government is doing everything badly,” she splutters. “In Venezuela, there is nothing, nothing, nothing.”

Meanwhile, at least two store managers at the Recreo mall — people whom you might expect to excoriate Maduro and his socialist-flavoured policies — take precisely the opposite position.

“There are still plenty of people in this country who have money,” says Milena Valle, 43, assistant manager of the Belline women’s shoe store, who takes a page straight out of Maduro’s playbook. “These protests don’t advance anything. They are damaging the economy. It’s a coup d’etat.”

Yajaira Hernandez, 56, manager of the CRI Electronica store, takes a similar view. She particularly praises Chavez, the late president, for extending pension benefits to many otherwise destitute seniors.

“A lot of people were very grateful for that,” she says.

She admits that her support for Maduro, with his somewhat lacklustre personality, is not as deeply felt as was her commitment to Chavez, a larger-than-life character.

Despite their many disagreements, most Venezuelans seem especially distressed by their country’s searing rates of violent crime, among the highest in the world.

If there is a basis for the peaceful resolution of this country’s grave differences — and many suspect there is not — the fight against crime might well provide it.

“There is mucha, mucha, mucha, mucha insecurity,” says Perez, the pharmacist in Guaicaipuro. “We used to close the doors at six. Now we close at four, because of fear.”

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